


Record Scratch Moment

by captainkoirk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, POV Scott, Rutting, Sloppy Makeouts, Team Brawn, look at these assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkoirk/pseuds/captainkoirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's happening all at once, a flash of lighting on the open road, and it's moving slow in segments, Newton's Cradle in Jell-O.</p><p> </p><p>(Can be read as a sequel to 'Drop Dead Sprint' or as a stand-alone piece)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Record Scratch Moment

Scott considers himself clueless, as a rule, no matter what he thinks he knows. There's just too damn much hiding from him, out there in the dark, even if he can stare right into it, now, and _see_. Hoping for the best, expecting the worst, and all that. Scott suspects he gets that from his mom. The whole Nature Vs. Nurture argument isn't something he ever thought would be on the forefront of his mind, but here it is. The whacked-out ratio of werewolves to people in Beacon Hills is showing him all the variables.

 

Not that Scott has a lot of spare time to think, between all the unfortunate accessories of lycanthropy, the struggles of academia, his normal life, and his brain-melting sex life.

 

Seriously, _brain-melting._ Sometimes, Scott has those record-scratch moments, and everything stops, no matter where he is, because _uh._

 

Sometimes it's when he's reading a book, or brushing his teeth, and _wham_. Then he'll be back in reality, and he'll have ripped the corner of the page he was turning, or his toothbrush will be drowned in toothpaste.

 

And metaphorically, Scott really can't put any of the toothpaste that is is life back in any kind of tube, so.

 

He thinks about that, too, when he has time to think. At fifteen, Derek told him the bite was a gift, and no, there isn't a receipt, but why would you want to return it?

 

Metaphors aside, Scott never had a chance to choose, and even the wild perks don't make up for everything else. Everything else being murder and mayhem on the regular.

 

And yet, lycanthropy is so deeply entrenched into every aspect of Scott's life, he has trouble imagining things any other way. Maybe his relationship with Allison wouldn't have such a tragic backdrop, punching Scott in the face with clichéd fists, like, at least twice a day. But then again, Scott's not sure if he would've had the confidence to even _talk_ to Allison, let alone ask her out, if his asthma hadn't vanished over night and been replaced by washboard abs. Just as well, it wouldn't make Allison any less of a hunter. She just wouldn't be able to share that part of her world with him. He loops it over and over in his mind, but it never works out.

 

Isaac is, simultaneously, easier and harder to think about. Isaac asked for the bite. Isaac Lahey was probably one of Beacon Hills' worst-kept secrets, even worse than werewolves and hunters. Everything could be explained away by vicious animal attacks leaving corpses in the woods, and walking into doors and falling down stairs. People look the other way, Scott thinks, in Beacon Hills, and it hurts to know that he likely would have, if he wasn't equally anonymous and wholly internal, before the bite. Isaac still gets the shit kicked out of him on the regular, and it makes something primitive in Scott _sting,_ even if the wounds heal, now. At least they can fight back.

 

Isaac asked for the bite, because he didn't see any other option. Scott can never blame him for looking at it, and what it can do, differently. Derek showed Isaac a way out and up, and up, and _up._ All Scott remembers is the smell of the rot of the forest floor, gagging on decomposing matter, how his skin was on fire, and how something inside of him was churning and cutting. Scott can't place Isaac in his life, without the whole creatures-of-the-night deal. Maybe they'd occasionally warm the lacrosse team bench together.

 

When Scott reads fiction, during rare moments free of some crisis or another, he likes to soak in the worlds in the pages, and imagine where he'd fit in. Often, he can't. He dwells too much on his responsibilities in this life.

 

Scott never thought he'd be much of a leader, let alone some kind of Werewolf Jesus, if what Deaton told him was accurate, and he wasn't just whacked out on shock and exhaustion and a near-crucifixion. Deaton's always been right, though.

 

At least the perks are really, _really_ perky.

 

It never occurred to Scott that wearing his heart on his sleeve, with a big, flashing neon arrow pointing to it, was abnormal. He's sensitive to a fault, which screws him over _constantly,_ but at least it makes sorting out what he has going on with Isaac and Allison easier. His mom, much like Deaton, does that thing where she knows what's up. Every time she's sat him down and made him _talk about it_ has been an indispensable character-building exercise, and Scott doesn't like mixing Mom Thoughts with Isaac and Allison Thoughts, but giving credit where credit is due, and all that.

 

So, perks.

 

Like, waking up with his hands in Allison's hair and his face in her breasts. Isaac's broad chest against Scott's back and his dick against Scott's ass.

 

 _Mad_ perks.

 

Scott tried to explain it, then, but it was kind of a lost cause, because he said "boobs", and Isaac fell off the bed, and Allison still laughs at him for saying "boobs".

 

She's doing that right now, actually.

 

"It was, like, seven in the morning! Boobs was my go-to word."

 

"Good to know that you are, in fact, twelve. You are a twelve year old boy."

 

"Scott the Tweenage Werewolf." Isaac chimes in, and okay, two against one, _not fair._

 

"You're lucky you're both pretty."

 

Scott has a type, and it's morally grey with a jaw like a cliff edge. It's weird, sexy film noir, and it makes him squirm because when did this become his life?

 

The three of them are in bed, and when Isaac's lower lip pushes across the shell of Scott's ear, a growl in the back of his throat, and Allison's fingers brush just under his navel, _record scratch moment._

 

Everything is visceral. Isaac; moss after the rain, blackberries in the soil, old leather, the copper and rock salt tang of blood, Scott's shampoo. Allison; fresh linen, sweat under leather, sweet cedar, her rose and amber perfume. Isaac's flat, human teeth, the rush of Allison's goosebumps, everything is moving slow like molasses, and when Scott snaps back to reality, it hits him like a train.

 

Something bubbling just under Scott's skin wants to haul Isaac over, pushing him into the mattress while Allison decides what she wants, but he curbs himself.

 

It's not that Isaac doesn't like it when Scott fucks him, hands gripping hips and pulling hair. It's not like they have a _default_ , and Scott knows it's important to ask, first. He hadn't, sometimes, before, and the fact that he's made Isaac flinch sits heavy in Scott's gut, curbing parts of him that Scott knows aren't really _him._

 

So, he asks. He communicates. Because no matter what his wolf pulls and pushes, talking things over is instinctive to Scott. Or maybe it's learned. Nature Vs. Nurture, again. Scott would think about it, but he doesn't multitask his free time. Also, _horny._

 

"So, uh, how are we doing this?" Scott's voice breaks off a little near the end, because Allison smiles. It's just a smudge of red and a flash of teeth, a promise, and it makes Scott's higher functions shut down _every time._

 

Allison and Isaac exchange a look. They tend to operate on the same wavelength, and when it isn't busy making Scott heart-happy, it makes him dick-happy.

 

Dick-happy. Goodbye, higher functions.

 

Scott might be Werewolf Jesus, but Allison has been preened to be a leader since birth, in so many little ways. Sometimes it hurts to think about it. But Scott isn't thinking, not when Allison shifts them all neatly with a roll of her body, hands on Scott's neck, back flush against Isaac's chest. Instinct or conditioning be damned, Scott loves it when Allison tells him what to do.

 

"I think you should go down on me." Allison's voice is like melting ice-cream down Scott's back, sticky sweet and making him shiver, and okay, his simile-maker isn't running at full gear.

 

Isaac's face is buried in the crook of Allison's neck, breathing her in, but his eyes are on Scott. His lashes are lowered, and Scott can see just a hint of his mouth, curving up into a smirk. It's a dare as much as an invitation, and Scott isn't even embarrassed that Isaac's figured out how to play him.

 

Allison is _definitely_ responsible, and that's hot and life-affirming at the same time, because Isaac and Allison _get_ each other, in all the dark corners they keep out of sight, even from Scott. Scott can't begrudge them their secrets, but it feels good knowing that they aren't alone, feels good to know that Allison is showing Isaac to walk unbent.

 

Scott leans back, tugging off his shirt and shucking his jeans, meeting Isaac's stare. He grins, crawling between Allison's legs and kissing her gently on the lips, resting a palm on Isaac's cheek. Isaac leans into it, arms tightening around Allison's waist. Scott loves how Isaac reacts to him, but it makes something curl in Scott's head to think about how touch-starved Isaac is. Now, though, Isaac is catching Allison's earlobe between his lips, unhooking her bra with his long fingers, and his hands are steady.

 

Scott doesn't hesitate, but he teases, just a little; keeps his chin up as he kneels, keeps his eyes on Isaac. He nudges Allison's skirt up with his nose, kissing her stomach as he hooks his thumbs under her panties. She lifts her hips, helping him slip them off. Scott can feel the rush of her blood as he presses against her, breathing in the thick, heady scent of her arousal.

 

Scott trails kisses up the insides of Allison's thighs, gripping at her hips. He fucking _loves_ oral, okay. He loves being flush against Allison, surrounded by her taste and her smell. Scott laves his tongue across Allison's labia, slow as he dares; he could get off just from this, shoving against the mattress, his face buried between Allison's legs, he _knows,_ but he wants to wait.

 

Scott's curious about how control works, especially when it's the people that drag him to the edge, with fingers and tongues and just _looks,_ keep him the most grounded. Or afloat. Whatever.

 

Scott runs his hands along Allison's thighs, _those thighs._ Scott fucking loves them, okay. They're so strong, and feeling the muscles shift totally does it for him, okay, and when Allison _rides him-_

 

Allison groans, frustrated and wanting, rocking into Scott's mouth, and Scott tongues her clit, humming against her. Her hands are in his hair, only _just_ tugging, and Scott knows she's close.

 

He keeps his hands firmly on her hips, Mouth flush against her sex. He kisses, licks, feels her brace her body against Isaac, feels her thighs tense. When Allison comes, Scott feels it, heat blooming in his blood; her back arching, her toes curling, the way her muscles move under his hands, her sharp intake of breath. It's happening all at once, a flash of lighting on the open road, and it's moving slow in segments, Newton's Cradle in Jell-O.

 

It's nothing new, but the feeling is like being hit by a train, every time, and Scott can never get used to it, and certainly never _over_ it.

 

A train made of Marshmallow Peeps, or something romantic like that.

 

Scott mouths along Allison's torso, closed-mouth, barely-there kisses and hickies and just _tasting,_ ignoring the saliva and come on his chin, and how his jaw aches, a little.

 

Allison wraps her arms over Scott's shoulders, pulling him close, and _oh,_ how strong her arms are isn't helping Scott's boner at _all._

 

Well. It's helping Scott's boner a _lot._ Just not, like, Scott.

 

Their foreheads bump, and Scott's too close to see clearly, but Allison's smile is a sharp, bright thing, and it _still_ makes Scott weak in the knees. And elbows. And wrists. All his joints. And when she tilts her head to the side, Isaac pushing against Scott's mouth, chasing Allison's taste, _record scratch moment._ Scott briefly considers how long Isaac's tongue is, like his legs and lashes and fingers and _oh-_ Scott's face is hot, because _uhm,_ he kind of crashed his own train of thought, there. No survivors.

 

Isaac smirks against his mouth, like he's definitely sucked Scott's brain out through his tongue, and he knows what Scott's thinking about. Scott wouldn't put it past him, actually. Allison probably taught him that, too.

 

Allison tugs, and they tumble, Allison's curls and Isaac's jeans, and Scott could totally lie here forever, if not for, uh, _boner._

 

Allison rolls over, lying propped up on her elbow. She runs a hand along Isaac's jaw, carding it through his curls. Isaac lies on his back, shirt rucked up, jeans low on his hips, cheeks flushed, and _come on,_ how is this Scott's life? This seriously, _seriously_ plot-driven porno?

 

But Isaac's doing that thing when he lowers his lashes, and _okay,_ Scott gushed to Allison about it _one time,_ and she's laughing, and it's grossly infectious. Scott thinks about how he'd wanted to push Isaac down into his mattress, grinding against him until they both lose it, and yeah, that's looking like a pretty viable option, if Isaac's body language is anything to go by. Isaac's all lean lines and corners, but he's all soft, right now.

 

Except for, _uh,_ The obvious.

 

Scott hooks a finger in Isaac's belt loop. "Wanna just, like, make out naked? I'm kind of beyond coordinating anything. Unless you want to. Then I _totally_ could."

 

Isaac grins, uneven and blinding, and when he presses a hand in the small of Scott's back, pulling with a push, a big palm and tapered fingers hot on Scott's skin, Scott's halfway to another planet.

 

Scott actually has to be pretty careful about making out with Isaac on his bed, because once Isaac confessed that he'd fantasized about it since junior year, and Scott totally came in his jeans, and Allison had hit _both_ her funny bones on the headboard.

 

Draping himself across Isaac's body, Scott fumbles to remove Isaac's jeans, nudging the angle of Isaac's head to the side. Allison curves onto her side, nestling in the crook of Isaac's free arm, resting her head on his shoulder. Isaac presses his feet against the mattress, tipping his hips up, helping Scott take off his jeans.

 

Offending layers disposed of, Scott hovers, taking it all in. Allison tucked right against Isaac's side, skin on skin, one hand a slack fist in his hair, the other flat against his jaw. She's kissing him, lazy and slow and comforting, and yeah, Scott knows Allison is the one that calls all the shots. Isaac's hands are twisted up in the sheets above his head, too-skinny wrists and those long, tapered fingers, and Scott is aching to hold those wrists, to _grip_ them, and it's so prehistoric, and he feels it deep in the back of his skull.

 

So Scott shifts, settling his weight on Isaac's lap, and that is _good_ pressure, and when Scott rocks forward, just a little, Isaac's breath hitches, and Scott sees Allison's mouth curving into a smile against Isaac's, and yeah, _focus._

 

When Scott leans forward, one hand braced by Isaac's head, other fingers light on Isaac's wrist, Scott knows it's Isaac's heartbeat speeding up, and there could be a couple reasons, so he asks.

 

"Can I hold you here?" Scott taps Isaac's wrists, and the pulse _jumps,_ but Scott doesn't smell fear.

 

" _God,_ Scott- yes, oh my God." Isaac gasps into Allison's mouth, pupils blown wide.

 

Scott likes how his hands look around Isaac's wrists, how the pulse running underneath them feels. It's fucking primal, but they're kind of attached at the hips right now, and Isaac and Allison are, like, fused at the mouth, so.

 

Scott grinds down against Isaac's hips, and _god,_ Isaac's moan is muffled by Allison, and that's so fucking good, how it's the three of them, like something Scott can't really think of, but _uh._

 

Isaac bucks, raw energy and jerky movement and Scott can't last, not at this pace, not watching Allison fuck Isaac's mouth, and he squeezes Isaac's wrists, and Isaac goes still.

 

Scott stops immediately, hands off, sitting back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- Christ, Isaac, I'm so sorry-"

 

Isaac groans, burying his face in Allison's shoulder. "- _Scott._ Get your ass back here, you can't just _stop,_ when you, uhm."

 

"…I?" Scott's hot in the face, trying to will away his boner, because that was _not_ cool of him, but Isaac's mouth is red and wet and kiss-swollen, and Allison is doing _that_ face when she knows something they don't. "What?"

 

"Put. Your hands. _back._ " Isaac's voice is low, and there go all of Scott's thoughts of un-arousing himself, even if he's still not sure that was okay or not.

 

"I thought- you stopped, uh, _moving._ I thought I, like, went too far."

 

"No, it was like- I wanted, you know…"

 

"He doesn't know." Allison points out, smoothing a hand down the back of Isaac's neck. "He's just being a disgustingly good person." Her tone is amused, and okay, Isaac is rubbing off on her, too, if that smirk is anything to go by.

 

"I like it when you, uhm, are on top of me. And hold my wrists. Like you're, uh. Sort of dominating. A little. I thought you wanted me to stay still. I _like_ it." Isaac struggles with his words.

 

Scott is using _lots_ of self-control to stop himself from pouncing on Isaac, right now, but the importance of the conversation obviously overrides the importance of Scott getting off, in a big way, so. Scott would avoid being thankful to his mom for instilling these rules in him, but thinking about his mom is actually helping control the boner situation _so very much,_ even if it's totally weird, so.

 

"But I should still ask before I- right? Because you like. Different. Things. Ways." Scott asks, pointedly not staring at Isaac's dick. Isaac is breathless, chest heaving, hair in disarray, and _extremely_ debauched looking. Thanks a _lot,_ Allison.

 

"Yeah. That's good."

 

Allison whispers in Isaac's ear, and Scott's too buzzed to really hear it, but when Isaac nods, Allison tugs with the hand in his hair, and _oh-_

 

Isaac arches his back, feet scrambling for purchase, shoving against Allison's mouth for a better angle, and Scott's completely gone, gripping Isaac's wrists while all the blood in his brain rushes down south. He ruts against him with abandon, taking in the slick noise of Allison's tongue against Isaac's, the smack of all their skin touching, Isaac's runaway pulse, Allison's thudding heartbeat. Scott can do tunnel vision with the best of them, drowning out everything except for the three of them, tangled up in each other without beginnings or ends or reasoning, just flesh and noise and god, right _there,_ just like _that._

 

Scott's not sure how he gets an _idea_ , when his brain is completely fried and nothing he's doing even feels like it's completely on this plane of reality, but he does.

 

He leans in, right against Isaac's ear, and he manages to avoid all hesitations when he speaks. "Come for me."

 

And Isaac _does,_ choked-off noises against Allison's mouth, fingers flexing and spasming. Scott follows, heat coiling in his belly and making him squirm in Isaac's lap before he feels it, white noise and warmth crawling up his spine.

 

Scott rolls off Isaac, landing heavily on his other side. They're all pretty gross, sweaty and sticky, but that's nothing when Scott realizes, that, _uh._ Record scratch moment.

 

"I can't believe I just said that." Scott blurts, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

He looks at Allison between his fingers, and yes, she's mastered Isaac's smirk down to the raised eyebrow and the little head tilt.

 

"It was pretty hot." She offers.

 

"It was _embarrassing._ " Scott cringes. "I sounded, like, I dunno-"

 

"A porn star." Isaac concludes. "Congratulations, dude."

 

"You've been upgraded. Scott the Tweenage Werewolf is now Scott the Porn Star Werewolf." Allison chimes in, and okay, those two are evil.

 

Scott makes to retort, but he's definitely red in the face, and when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.

 

They must take pity on him, though, because Allison drapes her arm over Isaac's chest and strokes Scott's cheek, smiling in a way that makes Scott want to run a marathon and save kittens from burning buildings.

 

"Thanks for, uh. For asking permission. And stepping off. Even if you didn't need to. And if it was totally frustrating at the time." Isaac mumbles, hooking an arm around Scott's waist.

 

"You know that we'll always ask, right?" Scott ventures, because it does funny things to his chest that aren't all good, Isaac thanking him for something that's so basic.

 

"It's an expectation that you deserve to have." Allison says, and she's doing her leader voice, picking up on Scott's cues.

 

"I- yeah. Okay." Isaac's voice is soft. "I trust you two. With stuff like that. Hair-tugging and wrist… things."

 

Allison looks a little surprised at Isaac's trust in her, but she always does. Scott hopes that will change, with time. But for now, he's moulding his body against Isaac's side, fitting in with his lines and getting a hand on Allison's hip.

 

"We're kind of gross, right now." Isaac wrinkles his nose, but he's shifting to accommodate Scott's head on his shoulder.

 

"Whatever. I'm a porn star. I'm _never_ gross."

 

Allison and Isaac roll their eyes in sync, but Allison squeezes his hand, and Isaac kisses the top of Scott's head. Scott closes his eyes with a grin on his face that Allison would call 'fucked-out goofy', and yeah, that's definitely accurate.

**Author's Note:**

> YO IT'S AIMEE FUCKING FLECK'S (ie brofisting) BIRTHDAY AND Y'ALL SHOULD GO WISH HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND SHOWER HER WITH LOVE


End file.
